Per Second Second: A Chuck Me Challenge
by I Am Not Amused
Summary: Taking a stab at the Chuck Me Challenge. The unseen importance in single seconds from each episode. Chuck vs. The Nemesis up.
1. Chuck vs The Pilot: Similarities

I don't really make the decision to send you the Intersect until the one second immediately after John Casey shoots me. I mean, that's the moment when I make the decision in terms of "Absolutely no going back now." But, truthfully, I decided to send you the Intersect as soon as I encoded it with our version of Zork, didn't I? No one but you would have cracked that code within a minute. Hell, no one but you would have cracked that code in a week. It would have taken the government or Fulcrum at least that long to figure out what the reference was from and then go through everyone one of the possible actions before they unlocked it.

We're too alike, Chuck. We have been since Stanford. I was you if you had been pushed into athletics. If you had a little more confidence. If you had been privileged and had been told at every opportunity the extent of your abilities.

See, I grew up rich and I grew up an only child to very attentive parents. They pushed me, but not in a negative way. They saw my potential and wanted me to reach it and gave me the means to do encouraged me when I put my mind to things and, well, when either of us put our minds to anything it was hard to stop us. They even encouraged my dorky pursuits, the ones you and I embraced in college with late-night Everquest LAN parties and programming our own Zork games and debating which sandwich would be best to bring with you on a deserted island (Roast beef, Chuck? Really?). They were as for me stretching my mind with word puzzles as they were with me stretching my imagination with _Star Trek_, and as for me pushing myself physically with sports as they were with me pushing myself intellectually with engineering.

You, man. Your experiences were like a worst-case scenario for how to encourage people with our sort of natural talents. Your mom and dad both leaving, Ellie being older than you and gone at college while you were still in high school. No one told you it was okay to be nerdy until I did the first day we met. No one told you it was possible, much less encouraged you to pursue the idea, that guys as smart as us could be athletic or charming or witty. By the time I met you, it was kind of too late for any of that, and its why I got recruited into the CIA a year earlier than you: I had more natural tools for them to use.

The fact is you were always smarter than me on a purely intellectual level, so I guess I shouldn't have been surprised hearing about your scores in Professor Fleming's class. Knowing about your dad, I'm even less surprised. Of course Orion's kid would have a brain big enough to handle the Intersect, even if he didn't have the tools to use it in the spy world.

Truthfully, this was inevitable, you receiving the Intersect. Given who your dad was. Given who I am. Your life has rotated around the Intersect long before either of us knew what that was. Really, that thing was meant for you at the very moment your father realized that he could build it. I made the decision to push you away from it in college, before I understood that.

Under my circumstances, we would have been the same and you would have been my partner in the CIA, but you hadn't. You had to make your own way, and you were a little shy and a little uncertain, but you had obtained such a due north moral compass-- and I knew plunging you into that world would wreck that--- that I couldn't do anything but push you away.

Once I had learned about your father. About Project Omaha. About the Intersect. I still did everything in my power to keep it from you, to keep it out of Fulcrum's hands and in the hands of trustworthy people, but the number of trustworthy people have dwindled down now to the point where I'm the one that's considered a rogue agent, and I've got by-the-book John Casey staring down at me and his bullet in my heart.

I made the do-or-die, no going back decision in that moment, the decision to push the send button. I made the theoretical decision to give it to you of all people when I encoded it with our Zork computer program. I made the obtuse decision to get you involved when I knew the Intersect needed to be destroyed in its computer form and given to someone trustworthy and you were on my shortlist for trustworthy people.

But the decision that you would be the Intersect eventually seems kind of pre-ordained now. I should have known as soon as Fleming told me 98%-- hadn't the highest prior to that been my own 84%?-- I should have given up the idea that you would be untouched by this, then. But it took finding out about your father, understanding Fulcrum, and realizing that you were the last person I had that I could trust, for me to finally come to grips with that decision.

You're a selfless person, Chuck. And it's hard to understand the motives of selfish people like me when you're as selfless as you are. I sent you the Intersect because _I _needed it safe. I kept you from becoming an agent and got you kicked out of Stanford because _I _wanted you to stay the person who had become my best friend. I befriended you because _I _needed someone at Stanford who understood my nerdy pursuits. And everything you've done has only ever been for other people. So, that's why I know you'll keep this thing safe for me, because if I had grown up forced to always look out for others because no one else in my family would, I would do the exact same thing.

We're too alike, Chuck.

But I cherish the ways that we're different.

Don't let this thing change you.

Promise me that.


	2. Chuck vs The Helicopter: Immediacy

The fact is that it's really, really hard not to like you immediately. You have an instantaneous magnetism to you that cuts through your self-deprecation, your nerdiness, your uncertainty, even when it's actually enhanced by those things. The way you rambles makes me want to smile, despite myself. Despite all the training I've received against letting a non-agent privy to any of my emotional thoughts. And you have a knack for saying things in an unexpected manner that brings a giggle to my lips (and when was the last time my giggled?).

"Making really tasty gourmet weiners," you say after the more pertinent information and I want to not laugh, I really want to not laugh, and I just barely hold it back into a smile even though I'm pointedly biting down on the corners of my mouth to prevent it. I think that I've had to control my facial expressions more in the past few days than I have in the entirety of the rest of my CIA service.

You slip in, Chuck.

I only used to use the term "disarming" as a verb. I am disarming my opponent. But since I've met you I've realized that it's actually more dangerous as an adjective. His smile was disarming. I never thought about it before. It's not often that people in my line of work even realize that disarming can be used as an adjective, but you are. Dangerously so.

In a way, you're the most unpredictable opponent I've ever had to face. I don't know exactly how you're going to approach a subject, so when you say something like, "I could be your very own baggage handler," or, "Tonight was probably the best-- only-- second date I've been on in years," I find myself unable to speak, but curiously touched. Until I remember that I'm supposed to be protecting you, not smiling at you fondly from the driver's seat of my car.

Which is why you not trusting me hurt. Because already I care about how I seem to you. Which I shouldn't but, well...

I didn't grow up normal, and maybe that's it. Maybe it's having such a strange childhood that has made your familial normalcy something that I look to as a sort of guide as to how to act in the real world. It hurts to realize that, to a normal guy, I didn't seem like a trustworthy person. Even when I asked you specifically for that.

I want you to see me as your protector, Chuck. Which, in a situation where our cover story is that we're enamored with each other, I understand is a difficult request. Lines get crossed even if you're walking straight. But you were never supposed to try to protect me. You were never supposed to see me in tears at Bryce's funeral. And you were never supposed to see me as a threat.

I'm sure you know that betrayal hurts. Bryce's betrayal_ hurt_. The fact that he was working against everything I believed in and I never saw it _hurt_. It hurt professionally. As in, "How did I not see anything in him that would have led me to believe that he was doing this." And it hurt personally. As in, "How, Bryce, could you do this to me?"

And, in the same way, your betrayal hurt. The fact that you didn't believe that the only thing I was working towards was your safety and the protection of your life _hurt_. It hurt professionally. As in, "What about my actions ever gave you any reason to pause when I asked you to trust me?" And it hurt personally. As in, "How, Chuck, could you think that of me?"

It's easy to be mad at you when I have time to build it up, because you aren't exactly aggressive in defending yourself. And watching you fly that helicopter after alerting Zarnow to your presence gave me plenty of time to build it up. You tend to just sit back and take it, which makes it both easier to _get_ mad at you and _go through with_ being mad at you, but very difficult to _stay _mad at you. Because you'll respond to something like improbably landing a helicopter by wanting to high five me and if I hadn't had the time to get mad at you, then I might have had a harder time not smiling at that.

Because, when I don't have time? When it's just a moment, an immediate moment, it's really hard not to like you. It's really hard not to return your smile, or laugh at your jokes, or just _like _you. And it's even harder to not want to be liked _by _you. As your protector, it's probably a good thing that it's just as hard to not want to protect you. You have a good heart. You care about the people around you intensely. So when I see you putting yourself into dangerous situations without thinking it's hard to understand. Because you think and you think and you think before you act. Except when someone is in danger. Then it seems like you'd gladly throw everything away-- even the Intersect that is only yours accidentally-- to protect them.

A lot of times it seems as though you're stuck in your own head, Chuck. Like you're all you think about. Like I said, you think and you think and you think before you act. But when you turn that off, and you turn your attention completely on someone, you can make them really feel how much you care. Sometimes it leads to you running into those dangerous situations, and it is infuriating. But other times, quieter times, it just seems like they're all that you think about. And they can seem, for that moment, like the center of your universe.

And it's hard to want to leave that universe.

You slip in, Chuck.

Because as untrained and haphazard as you are with just about everything in your life, it makes it that much easier for you to find the cracks in someone's armor. You could trip and fall into someone's truest nature, could see their entire lives through an accidentally unlocked door. When you give that quip about saving your life and protecting the country and making gourmet hot dogs, you just about do it to me.


	3. Chuck vs The Tango: Aces

"She's not into me," is what you say to me.

And it breaks my heart and flabbergasts me and makes me angry all at the same, Chuck. How could you not see the look in her eyes at the Weinerlicious when we were all sitting around, eating corn dogs of all things?

It's funny, the looks I see her give you, Chuck, and it's amazing to me that you don't notice it. Because she'll give you these fiercely protective glances and make no effort to hide them. Like, if anyone were to touch you wrong she'd break their finger-- as difficult as it is to think of petite Sarah hurting anyone. But when she thinks no one is looking (she thinks she's being surreptitious and secretive about it, as if she isn't totally obvious) she gives you these tender, whimsical glances, as if you've offered her a way off a desert island.

And you have the audacity to say that she's not into you?

Look, when Mom left, it hurt you more than it hurt me. I was in my awkward teenage rebellion stage and it just fueled my own anger at her and by the time I had gotten over that pointless anger, I was gone at college, with my own life. And then Dad left, too, before you even had a chance to leave for college and you moved in with Morgan, of all people. And then the whole Bryce and Jill debacle happened and I was so disappointed because I had been so proud to see you off to Stanford, so excited that you had met two people who seemed to do you such a world of good. It must have been like having the rug pulled out from you all over again.

So I get that this led to a diminished sense of self-worth, Chuck. I took psychology classes as part of my medical degree. I get it. But, Chuck, you went to Stanford. You were valedictorian in high school and on your way to graduating Summa Cum Laude at Stanford. You've programmed entire video games in your spare time, Chuck, and as much as I don't approve of that little hobby, I understand how difficult a task that is. So, for you to have Sarah giving you those type of looks and you to say that she's not into you? Well, it makes me want to grab you by the shoulders and shake you.

Of course she's into you, Chuck. And I can see why. You're smart. You're funny. You're accidentally charming which, even though I'm dating Devon, I can tell you is more often endearing than intentionally charming. And, when you can be bothered to pull yourself out of your funks, you can make the person you're smiling at feel like the center of your world. I saw it a lot with Jill. I saw it at the Weinerlicious with Sarah. It's a sexy feeling for a woman, Chuck, to know that she's the alpha and omega of your thoughts.

It's hard not to like someone who likes you, sure. As people we like to have our own egos stroked, and someone liking who we are does that. So maybe you write it off when people seem to be into you as them just responding to you being into them. Maybe you feel like you give more than you get, or that you're only getting _because_ you're giving. Your mind works too fast for me to keep up sometimes, Charles, so I can't say what you're thinking when you're into someone and you're not getting exactly what you want in return. You over-analyze everything, which I understand is just a way for you to prevent people from hurting you before you get too involved.

But I also know how quickly you fall. I saw it with Jill. The first call that I got from you about her, you were practically gushing, and I was so glad that it wasn't a one-and-done thing, because I don't know how you would have handled that. And the same thing is happening now with Sarah. When you came how to tell Devon and I about your date with her, you were practically glowing. Yes, you've learned some since then. You didn't get into so many specifics, and you weren't as giddily effusive as you were back when you were eighteen, and I know you think that means you haven't fallen as hard, but you have.

I understand you want to keep your own expectations for your relationship with Sarah down, because you're afraid of things happening with her that happened with Mom and Dad, with Bryce and Jill, even with me, to a certain extent, when I left for college before you really had time to process our own mother being gone. I understand that you want to keep yourself safe so that you can convince yourself that it doesn't hurt if she were to leave you.

But don't lie to yourself, and don't lie to me. Don't say that she's not into you. You can't possibly believe that. And if you do, it's only because you don't see yourself the way I can see you. The way-- I hate to say it-- Morgan sees you. The way even Devon sees you.

It's certainly the same way Sarah sees you.

I saw your face light up, joking and talking with her at the Weinerlicious. I saw that smile that had been absent from your face for five years burst back onto the scene in full force. And I saw her respond to that smile with a shy, reserved one of her own. One that almost seemed like she didn't want to spill loose. Not because she's not into you, but because of just how into you she actually is. She's just as scared of liking you as you are of liking her. So don't tell me she's not into you. She is. And do you know why?

Aces, Charles. It's because you're aces.


	4. Chuck vs The Wookie: Intrigue

I'll tell you something, Chuckles, I don't go for the whole "cute" or "bumbling" thing. Like that move you just pulled with downing your drink so awkwardly. Nervous, either. That whole stuttering, slightly sweaty thing is kind of a turn off. Here I am, throwing myself at you, and you're just sitting there, flustered, and saying that you should call your handler. Honestly, Chuckie, bringing up another girl when one is standing in front of you in this outfit? I spent forty-five minutes picking out these panties, the least you could do is give them a glance.

The fact you don't, though, is kind of interesting about you. Even your bearded friend-- Martin? Morton? Whatever-- was immediately taken with me. Even cold and calculating Casey has never been able to resist me. And I can tell that you find me attractive, Chuckles. The way your eyes opened wide when I let my robe drop told me that right away. So what's the problem? It's a puzzle, and while I've always been more of a "go through the obstacle, not around" kind of girl, I feel like giving you a moment's consideration might be worth something.

You've certainly got-- Oh, damn it, what's her cover name this time? Sarah-- Sarah a bit wound up over you. Her boyfriends have never been like you, Chuck. So the fact that you're under her skin-- And you are. I mean, she'll never admit it, but she could never hide anything from me-- says something about you that, I'm sorry, I just don't quite see. You're kind of cute-ish. The mussed, curly hair thing works for you, and that smile I saw you giving Sarah outside of your apartment is one of the better smiles I've seen. But your bumbling uncertainty? I thought it might have been an act until I sat you down on my bed, Chuckie boy, but either you've perfected it so well that no one can break through it, or you're just a nervous little analyst.

Oh, and what the hell do they have you analyzing, by the way? Knowing about Argentina, you're obviously not garden-variety. Add in the fact that you've got CIA _and_ NSA protecting you (and top agents from each agency? Jesus) something doesn't quite add up about you, Chuck. You're not exactly the world's greatest spy, it seems. Or, like I said, you're just so good that no one realizes that you're a spectacular one. Either way, it doesn't make sense why you'd be so protected unless you were very, very important. How important are you, Chuck?

I thought I might screw it out of you, to be honest. Thought the red lingerie would be a deal breaker in that regard, but now that I see you nervously swigging that entire glass of champagne, I know that it won't happen. The best I can do is try to get under your skin. I heard you, outside of your apartment, asking Sarah about Bryce. And I heard her lie to you. Oh, don't take it so personally, Chuckles, she's a CIA agent. Even if she does have a hard time keeping her body language and facial expressions from betraying what she's feeling, she's spectacular at locking it down when it needs to be done. So she lied to you about Bryce. If I were you, I'd be amazed she even let me know about Bryce when there would really be no reason for her to need to.

That's another thing that's interesting about you, Chuck. Sarah's former boy toy got himself dead not that long ago, and already she's angry at me when I give you flirty glances. You haven't slept with her, I can figure that much out. She's not the type to go jumping from one bed to the next in her personal life, and you're not exactly a lady killer. So what is it about you that has got her ridiculous Weinerlicious skirt all bunched up?

I'll admit, there is something there. You're like a spy with none of the baggage, which, for anyone with G6 clearance, is kind of impressive. Usually to get to that point they'll have broken you of anything resembling a trusting, or sunny, or endearing disposition. You've still got that, though, and even though it's not really my thing-- and I never thought it would be Sarah's-- I can see how it would be kind of refreshing. Like a vacation in the country after living for years and years in the city. But don't take it too hard when Sarah leaves, Chuckles. I mean, she'll have to. Going out to the country is just a vacation. Even if she did seem convinced when she said she was good here (and I feel like you had something to do with how her eyes left no room for argument in that statement) I figure it's only a matter of time. Spies weren't made to sit around in living rooms watching penguins, Chuck.

You're kind of an enigma, Chuck Bartowski. It may seem obvious because I'm almost completely naked in front of you, but you interest me. And not _just_ in the "having sex with you would delightfully infuriate Sarah" sort of way. But in the way that there is something just below the surface with you and, when someone talks as much as you do, the idea that anything you think isn't coming out of your mouth is-- I'll admit it-- intriguing. And the fact that you're denying me is even more delicious.

Getting you into bed would be great, of course. As I mentioned, for the whole Sarah thing, but also because you see something of people in sex-- even sex for spy missions, when both of you are trying to avoid letting the other see anything real-- that you don't see anywhere else. And you seem like you'd be an open book in the sack, Chuckles. I could probably learn your entire life story (gag me with a gun) if I just asked you, but if I slept with you I feel like you'd unknowingly let me see everything about you.

Which, I mean, I don't do the whole nerd thing, usually. But you're something of a mystery, what with the way Sarah stares longingly at you and the way you have a bunch of unrelated people-- people who don't even like each other-- going out of their way to do anything to protect you, and I don't just mean your handlers.

There's something about you, Chuckles. I can't put my finger on it, though.

Mostly because, as I see you nervously down that flute of champagne and the scared look in your eyes, I realize you won't let me. And you're the first guy-- Hell, first person-- that's acted that way around me in a long time.

So, instead of sleeping with you, I'll give you something you (don't) want.

The truth about Bryce and Sarah.

As intriguing as you may be, Chuck, I can't wear this lingerie and not get myself a little pleasure.


	5. Chuck vs The Sizzling Shrimp: Can't

"We can't save everyone," is what you tell me.

Which really bums me out.

I mean, first of all, Sarah, how do we know that we can't save everyone if we don't try, you know? We won't save _anyone_ if we just sit back and let Triads steal people's brothers (well, okay, if _I _just _don't_ sit there and _make_ Triads steal people's brothers). But don't we have to make the effort before we throw up our hands and say sorry?

My dad didn't teach me much, okay? But one piece of advice he did give me that I took to heart was when he said that the only time we really fail is when we don't make any attempt to succeed. And, sure, maybe I could have been really bitter about him not attempting to succeed at being a father (Alright, fine, I still am fairly bitter about that) but that doesn't make him not right.

Second of all, it really sucks that _you_ think that, Sarah. I mean, you're like a freaking super hero to begin with. So the idea that you're just going to sit there and let this happen, I mean, that's more a case of "won't" than "can't" isn't it? And, you know, maybe you're okay with won't, but I'm not. I'm not okay with won't.

For five years I was "I _won't_ try to meet someone else after Jill" and "I _won't_ try to get a real job" and "I _won't _keep myself from spending all of my free time playing video games and hanging out with Morgan." So now that I got kind of forcibly removed from my own world of won't, I can't just sit here and let it creep back in. It's not that I _won't_ do it. It's that I _can't_.

And it's because of you that I can't, Sarah. So that makes the way you seem so blasé and willing to accept this, your ability to only give me "we can't save everyone" as your reasoning, so kind of mind-boggling to me. We're the good guys. In comic books, the good guys always go after the people in trouble, regardless of how out of their way it is. Regardless of how their superiors may have ordered them to stay out of it.

Sarah, I've only known you for—what is it now?—just over a month, right? And you make me want to be a better person. Not to impress you, though that would be a very nice side effect, and not to intentionally put myself in danger, though that's what you always accuse me of doing. It's because I see you and Casey and, I mean, he's like a boulder, completely impenetrable and able to look down at five guys with guns and make _them_ quiver, and you're a crazy badass ninja spy girl who is like River Tam from _Serenity_ but in real life.

And neither of you have super powers or anything, just some (okay, a lot) more physical capabilities and endurance than I do. So I see you guys throwing yourself into danger on my behalf and it's like, don't I have to be a better person for your sakes? I feel like if I just sit there and let you guys do all the work, then I'm just this liability. This guy who gums up the works. And I've helped out a few times, right? I mean, I diffused that bomb, right? And… Okay, well maybe I just diffused that bomb, and I only was able to do it because the computer tied to the bomb was coincidentally the same one I had seen fried by the Irene Demova virus a few days before hand.

So, yeah. I'm just the guy that gums up the works. But I don't want to be that guy. I want to help. I want to help you and Casey and Ellie. I want to help Director Graham and General Beckman. Heck, I want to help Ellie and Awesome and Morgan and Big Mike. I want to help everybody, Sarah.

And, I mean I know it's in your and Casey's natures to be realistic about things going on. You're very intimidating when you're cluing me in to the depth and scope of a situation. But I can't let myself believe that we can't save everyone. It's the only thing that's keeping me going right now. If I start accepting that there are people who I can't save, I mean…

If I accept the idea that I can't save Mei-Ling's brother, or even Mei-Ling, then what makes me believe that I can save anyone else, you know? Like, if I fail here, what's to stop the failures from piling up. They have a tendency to do that with me, Sarah, and I really don't want to start down that road again.

I mean, my mother leaving, my sister heading off to college and my dad leaving all happened at the same time, and if one of them stayed, maybe all of them would have stayed, you know? And, then I got kicked out of Stanford and lost Jill and ended up working at a BuyMore all within, like, two weeks and I stayed in that rut for five years.

If I can't save Mei-Ling's brother, then the next step is not being able to save, I don't know, Skip's brother. Then it's not being able to save Big Mike. Then it's not being able to save Morgan. Or Ellie. Then it's not being able to save you. Or Casey. And I don't mean save in terms of life or death, though given our recent adventures that's terrifyingly not out of the question, but I just mean in terms of failing at what few opportunities my limited skill set afford me.

So, please, Sarah, realize that when you say "We can't save everyone," and to you it's just a statement of fact, a cold realization that they drilled into you in spy school, something unalterable and inalienably true, it's something that I just can't accept.

Because you showed me the difference between _can't_ and _won't_.

And I'd be letting us both down if I let anyone—even you—try to take that away from me now.


	6. Chuck vs The Sandworm: Deal

I never knew you had a sneer in you, Bartowski. But when you spit through grit teeth, "I'm sorry, Casey, did I violate your trust?" I'm almost impressed.

Almost.

Because you're still a damn moron, getting in my and Walker's way from trying to keep that computer in your head from being damaged. We planted bugs, Bartowski. We're spies. The fact that you're surprised should show you just how much you need us to be spying on you. I'm not entirely sure how you got into Stanford when you have a tendency to be so incalculably stupid.

I don't know if it's ever been explained to you, Bartowski, or at least explained to you properly, but the Intersect is every damn bit of information collected on every damn topic by every damn government agency. NSA. CIA. FBI. Army. Navy. Air Force. Marines. SEALs. Rangers. Black Ops. Special Ops. Secret Service. Every damn thing is in there, Bartowski. And, frankly, it's more important to keep that safe than to give one damn about whether or not you feel invaded upon.

Do you have any inkling, any sort of concept of what kind of resources, what kind of taxpayer money, what kind of manpower collecting that data takes? Lifetimes, Bartowski. People gave their lives for some of that data. Hundreds of soldiers and operatives left behind grief-stricken spouses and hungry children for the tiniest bits of data in your head. What's a single name to you was probably someone else's entire life's work. Probably something they took to their grave, which is now marked in a national cemetery by a headstone that's obnoxiously inconspicuous, with only their name and their dates to mark it.

These men dedicate their entire lives to one scrap of data that is now bustling in your head with hundreds of other bits and to you it's some annoyance, something that got in the way of sandwich talk and rounds of Call of Duty. To you it's an inconvenience. Well, to me, it's thousands of good, honorable men and women and you being surprised that we put a few bugs to protect the lifelong work of those men and women is, frankly, disgusting.

You gave up your privacy as soon as you cooperated with us, Bartowski.

Deal with it.

But no one's explained it like that to you, Bartowski, because they think you're too weak to handle it. Even you think you're too weak to handle it. But you're not. You've stood up to me more than a time or two in the month or so we've known each other and that's more than some of the men in my platoon can say, and they're seasoned soldiers. Not one of them has ever talked back to me like you just did, with a sneer, and part of that is a soldier's duty and part of that is they don't have the cajones.

Walker coddles you, because she sees you like you see you. Like you stumble accidentally into the right answer. Like you trip into the right situation. You don't. You put yourself there intentionally, you come to that answer logically. So quit acting like a baby. Man up. Because with the history of track and gymnastics that Larkin had, you'd be next to Walker and I in the thick of it. The only thing keeping you back is a little muscle definition and a lot of lady feelings.

So deal with it. You're going to get surveillance, because the memory of all those who died getting that information into your head deserves it. You're not going to have any privacy because honoring those people is more important than giving you and your right hand a little alone time. You're going to be hearing from Walker and I at every moment of every day that we need you because you (yes, as much it pains me to admit it, Bartowski, you) are an invaluable tool in making the greater Los Angeles area (and, fine, maybe the world) a safer place. Your life isn't the Buy More and the idiots who work there any more. Your life isn't your sister's loser burnout brother anymore.

And I think you get that.

I don't think you _want_ to get that, but I think you do. I think you're fighting tooth and nail _against_ getting that, but you can't help it. Stanford made you smarter than that-- Though with the way you don't stay in the damn car, I doubt it sometimes. But the grit in your voice just now, the narrowed eyes and the way you thrust the bugs into my chest with a force I had no idea you were capable of (I think it felt more like a boy than a girl this time) they let me know that you're beginning to understand.

You're officially property of the U.S government, Bartowski. And maybe you don't like that fact, but most people in this country don't like facts. They're more concerned about their opinions and their feelings. And your opinion is that you should have your own life. And your feelings are that you don't like being told what to do, where to go, who to talk to, and every other little detail of your life that we now have a massive Uncle Sam hand it.

But those are the facts, Bartowski.

You know what a fact is? The dictionary defines it as "a piece of information presented as having objective reality." And while I've read the dictionary for a few key words that I care about (fact, liberalism, bulletproof, scotch) I'm sure you've had the time in your pathetic post-Stanford life to look it over more than a few times, so I'm pretty sure you know exactly what that definition means. It means you can't change it, Bartowski. It means that this thing, this Intersect, with its hundreds of secrets culled from the blood, sweat and tears of hundreds of good soldiers, is in your head now and we can't get it out. It means that as much as you don't like it, it's just the way things are.

You get that, I think.

You growl "I'm sorry, Casey, did I violate your trust?" with enough gusto that I almost think you're a man for a second, so you get all that, I think. And I respect that, in a month and a half, you're beginning to understand what we want you to do. What the country needs you to do. The next step is to stop being so wrapped up in what you want to happen and accept what actually is happening.

In short, Bartowski, deal with it.

(I'm pretty sure you can.)


	7. Chuck vs The Alma Mater: Darts

_2003_

It's the moment you tell me that you know I'm out of ammo that it hits me.

They're going to recruit you, too, Chuck. The CIA is going to recruit you, too.

This isn't the first time we've played this game. Cops and robbers for twenty-something slackers. And I beat you every time, sure. But you get closer and closer every time. If it weren't for some of the tricks I've been learning from the CIA, I'm sure that you'd have gotten me a few times. And that should have tipped me off right there, you know? I had to use _CIA training_ to beat you at _cops and robbers_. But, I mean, it was just a game and, even though it was great practice for some of the things I was going through at Langley-- you thought I was visiting my family more often than I ever had before-- I never really put two and two together until that moment. Until "I know you're out of ammo, I've been counting."

Sure, you were facing the wrong way, and I know you'll beat yourself up over that in a few minutes when we do the blow-by-blow recap, but I'm a CIA trainee, Chuck. You're not supposed to have a chance. You're not supposed to get me to waste my ammo and go to my stash location to get more before being able to beat you. You're supposed to take two or three shots at most. I've played this game with the other guys in the fraternity and they can't last more than five or ten minutes.

So, yeah, as soon as you let me know you had been counting my ammo, that you knew I was out, that was the very moment when I knew you were going to be recruited by the CIA. That they were going to take a look at your raw potential, your quick-fire brain synapses, and they were going to see someone who had the build to be a physical weapon, the intelligence to be an analyst or a tracker, and the sense of honor to be honed into a protector.

But it's this second, this one where you take too long and let me grab my extra dart, this second where I can see that you won't-- can't-- pull the trigger, that I know that I don't want them to have you.

The CIA is great, sure. And I know that I'll be doing good work for them. I know I'll be tracking down terrorists and arms dealers and international drug traffickers. And I know that I'll probably be killing them. That's okay by me. Really. It is. It's not that I don't care for human life, or that I don't view it as precious thing. It's just...

God, _Firefly_ is a great show. I know that nobody but the two of us actually, you know, watched it, but it fits what I mean so perfectly here. And, I know that you're not too fond of being compared to a girl, so I'll do it to myself first. You remember that scene in the episode where Mal and Wash get taken by Niska? Where Kaylee gets cornered and runs back and then River comes out and takes her gun and shoots the three of Niska's guards without looking? Great, great episode. Alan Tudyk murdered it as post-torture Wash. Anyway.

I'm River. I've got the ability to stop these people and it's not that I don't think human life is sacred or important or that I've got any sort of right to take it away. But I have the ability to do good, even if you're going to look at me different forever if you were to see me do it. And you're Kaylee. You've got nothing but the best of intentions, Chuck. You'd take up arms to protect your crew. But you'd never be able to fire. I see it in your eyes, as I distract you by messing with some random book. It's not just hesitation, it's a complete and utter reluctance to pull the trigger. To shoot me.

And, Chuck, that's with a _dart_.

So as much as I know that I know that you'll be recruited. As much as I know that you have all the tools, all the ability and raw talent in the world, to be a spy. As much as I know that if they got their claws in you that you and I would be back to back, James Bond to James Bond, I know just as much that the person who would have my back in that instant wouldn't be Chuck Bartowski. You wouldn't be Kaylee anymore. You wouldn't be Simon or Shepherd Book or even Wash. You'd be Mal. Betrayed by a force you thought had your back, disillusioned and disenchanted by a world you thought was going to be all the mighty hand of justice.

It's not. And that doesn't bother me so much. Just a couple of years ago a group of people hijacked four planes and murdered thousands of people with them, knocking down part of America's most iconic landscape. I remember going down to New York from Connecticut for various trips and crossing over the Brooklyn Bridge and seeing those towers and now I haven't been back to New York in awhile, but I know that their absence will be conspicuous. So, you know, I got into the CIA through Professor, I probably had a more grandiose and naive vision of what it would be, but I'm not disenchanted or disillusioned. I have a vision of two high points in the sky that I'm doing this for.

And, you know, I'm sure that you'd justify it and rationalize it when they ask you. You'd picture Ellie and you'd say okay, that you'll do it. You'll push aside remembering that your mom left and your dad left and convince yourself that leaving Ellie was okay because you'd be protecting her, you'd be saving her. Like I picture two skyward points, you'd picture your sister and you'd grit your teeth and furrow your brow and nod seriously and just do it.

But you've never looked natural with a furrowed brow. You've never sounded natural with grit teeth. You've always been the perfect guy-- my best friend-- when we were laughing over our microphones at a pair of noobs in Halo that we were slaughtering, when we were watching taped reruns of _Doctor Who_, when we were quoting every line from _The Wrath of Kahn_.

You don't pull the trigger long enough for me to fit my dart into my gun without you knowing.

I just hope that's always the case, you know?


	8. Chuck vs The Truth: Alone

I'm by myself a lot, Chuck.

Since taking this assignment and moving out here to Burbank, since failing to get the Intersect out of your head, since Irene Demova viruses and helicopters and Carina and Stanford, I've had a lot of moments when I've just been by myself. For a CIA agent working with a partner, that's not very usual, but it's not entirely _un_usual, either. Given the circumstances around setting up our cover for being around the Intersect (around _you_, Chuck), it made sense that I'd stay in location of a further distance than Casey. It would have been too much of a romantic comedy for me to move in next to you and for us to start dating. And the NSA has always been more the go-to people regarding surveillance, anyway.

My room isn't bugged, either. There's no cameras or bugs or any other type of surveillance. Anything I say, any noise I make, anything I do, is not checked up on. I appreciate the trust. While working out in the field, especially under cover, we're not usually checked up on in such a way, but when we take a long-term assignment, the decision whether to have surveillance on the agent or not is at the discretion of the CIA. Or, in this case, both the CIA and the NSA. I suppose Graham went to bat for me on that one, Chuck, and I'm glad he has. It would have made that one moment where I quietly gave in to you, where I gold you my middle name was Lisa (even if you didn't hear it) incredibly complicated. And I'm not a fan of complicated.

My point in telling you about my apartment, Chuck, is to tell you that when I'm there, I'm by myself. And, when I get done at the Weinerlicious, take a shower, and we don't have any mission, I spend a lot of time there. You're never by yourself anymore, you always have Casey or Beckman or myself watching you, even if you don't know it. But I spend a lot of time in my room, by myself.

It's not a bad thing. I like having that time. I don't like to talk much, but I think a lot. And being by myself gives me time to let those thought processes come to natural conclusions, instead of having to school every one into an acceptable response, and choosing whether that response be a facial expression, a word, a touch, or something else. I don't have to worry about every movement, every sentence, every second. I have that time to simply let my emotions and thoughts go, channeling them into exercise or target practice or research. The truth is I _like_ the time I get to spend by myself. And, with the assignment here, I spend a lot of time in that state, by myself.

But, Chuck, you've left me _alone_.

I... I don't know what I expected you do to just now, when you came into the Weinerlicious when I wasn't expecting you (but sort of maybe hoping you'd stop by?) and was just clearing out customers. I don't know what I expected you to do when you stepped toward me and said that this was the one thing you'd promised yourself you'd do. My mind tends to shut off a bit when you're around, which is simultaneously relaxing and comforting and irreparably dangerous at the same time. But you came in, you took my shoulders in your hands (they felt warm) and you told me that we needed to break up.

I hadn't been expecting that. And maybe that was short-sighted of me. Maybe I thought that your years spent pining after Jill when she ran off with Bryce meant that you would take my denial and dwell on it for long enough for me to restore our cover. For long enough for me to bring you back on board with our fake (?) relationship. But you didn't give me that time. You broke up with me. And I'd like to pretend that it doesn't hurt-- because it shouldn't hurt, it really shouldn't hurt (it shouldn't hurt!)-- but it kind of does. But I've spent enough time as an agent to know that I can't let that pain reach my features. So I don't. I let you say what you need to say, that the person you fool the most with every moment we touch and hug and spend next to each other is yourself. And I let you leave without another word.

And you leave me _alone_.

I haven't been alone in a long time. Since I was eighteen years old and the cops had just found my father and I was running to his secret stash for me, only to be found by Graham and recruited into the CIA. It's been years since I've been _alone_. And, for all logical intents and purposes, I shouldn't feel that way right now, in a restaurant that has been bugged and your scent still lingering in the air and Scooter somewhere in the back. I shouldn't feel alone. But, then, I suppose when the guy you like breaks up with you, it's a natural response.

Resisting pentathol is a difficult task. It takes intensive training to get it down and periodic retraining to ensure that your immunity hasn't dissipated. The NSA doesn't have agents alone in enemy territory that often, they're usually parts of military teams, so Casey never needed to re-up his immunity. And, now that I suppose I've accidentally re-upped mine, that I won't have to do it again for another five years.

Resisting penthathol begins by taking deep breaths through your nose and making sure you keep your mouth closed as you do so. Oxygen is a natural suppressant of pentathol, so gathering as much as you can into your bloodstream is important. Usually using long, deep inhalations and short bursts of exhalations can drive enough oxygen into your bloodstream to suppressing the part of the drug that causes you to blurt out things without meaning to. However, when asked a question, the task is more difficult. The key there is to avoid visual stimuli that relates to the question at hand. Continue taking deep breaths, and say the lie in your head five times, with a two second gap between each reiteration. Then, make eye contact with your questioner (this is important, because a lack of eye contact will convince them that, regardless of the pentathol, that you're lying) and say the lie out loud, intentionally over-enunciating each syllable.

It's not easy. It took me seven attempts to pass that portion of my CIA training. Inevitably, my lie would come halfway out, and then my mouth would garble around the last few words. I would forget to over-enunciate. And I knew, if given any chance, I'd never be able to make it through more than five words with you. So I kept it simple. "I'm sorry Chuck, no."

Maybe I was naive to think that wouldn't put a barrier between us. Maybe I was hopeful that you'd listen more with your heart than with your ears. But the truth is, if I said yes, I would have been shipped out of here, unable to see you. And I didn't count on Lou offering you a real relationship. I didn't count on you being inspired to take charge of your life so quickly. I didn't count on you leaving me here, walking out of the Weinerlicious without so much as a "I'll talk to you later," _alone_. I didn't count on having to watch you smile and joke with another woman.

I like being by myself, Chuck. But I don't like being alone.

But, you know, at least I still get to see you.

* * *

**A/N: I only JUST remembered to put in my author's note. I am so very very bad at remembering them. I wanted to say thanks to everyone who has reviewed and continues to review this story. There are a lot of moments to choose from in Chuck vs The Truth. It's kind of a turning point episode for the first season, along with The Imported Hard Salami. Now, I toyed with looking at different moments, less important moments, in this space (specifically Morgan's POV seeing Chuck and Lou interact) and while they would have been fun, I've always wanted my version of the Chuck Me Challenge to look at these important moments. To that end, I had to sacrifice choosing a new character's POV (something I also wanted to make sure I did with this challenge), to look at the importance of the moment when Chuck chooses to break up with Sarah. Anyway, enough story-psychology babbling. I hope you enjoyed this entry! Please read and review!**


	9. Chuck vs The Imported Hard Salami: Need

As an agent, Chuck, we're trained to be okay with dying. We have it repeatedly drilled into our heads that this job is going to kill us. Survival rates are just on the good side of zero. I had always imagined that I was going to die doing this job. I was okay with that. I had been trained very extensively to be okay with that. When I saw the count down on what we thought was a bomb ticking down to zero and I thought I was going to die, I actually relaxed a bit. I didn't really have a problem with dying.

But then I saw you close your eyes.

About a thousand emotions flooded me at once as I saw your eyelids flutter closed. Emotions that I had been trained to suppress. But suppression didn't matter so much in the moments right before death, did it? So I let them flow through me. Before you die that last second of your life turns into a lifetime, and I had enough to to pick up and examine each emotion as it rose before me.

I felt guilt. Guilt that it had been you that Bryce sent the Intersect to. Because you're a good person, Chuck. You look for the honest approach in every situation, even when it's far more difficult than the dishonest approach. I felt guilt at all the times I had lied to you in our two months together, from my relationship with Bryce to the pentathol.

I felt regret. Regret that the only time I would have left with you would be the three seconds on the timer as they counted down. Regret that I intentionally went out of my way not to say anything that would reveal to you how much you meant to me. Simultaneous and contradictory regret that I didn't pull away from you totally and not allow us to get into this situation with our feelings and regret that I didn't give in to you totally and allow us to explore something promising.

I felt affection. I'd been attracted to you vaguely when I first met you. You're not a bad looking guy. Maybe not classically handsome, but certainly cute. But your personality, your sharp wit, your insistent morality, your obvious intelligence, and your lackadaisical charm combined into something that was more than your physical features, and made you more attractive for it.

And, for maybe the first time in my life, I felt _need_. People don't _need_ much, Chuck. The CIA had an extensive course study on Maslow's hierarchy of human needs. It's a triangle, with the base being physiological needs-- food, water, shelter, breathing, etcetera-- the second level being safety needs, the third being the need of belonging, the fourth being the need of esteem, and the fifth and final being needs of self-actualization. CIA agents don't have a hierarchy of needs. The graphic used in the training presentation violently lopped off the top four tiers, leaving nothing but physiological needs. That was what we were trained to survive on.

But in what I thought was going to be my last moment of you, I felt all of those pent up needs, ones I thought I had pushed completely aside, rush through me like a dam had opened. I felt the need of your safety, the need of your approval for my own self-esteem, the need to self-actualize a goal and let go around you. But mostly, I felt the need of belonging. The need to belong to you, if only for just that last moment.

I saw you close your eyes, the expression so reluctant but accepting that all of these needs swept through me and I had to act on them; there was nothing to lose. I don't remember the exact sequence of events-- I am pretty sure that I grabbed your face to mine, but with one of my hands now at the point where your hairline meets your neck (one of your 'spots' I noticed when doubling with Carina and Morgan) and the other grabbing a handful of your white shirt, I'm not sure how they could have got there-- but I do remember standing up on my tip-toes to reach your mouth and I remember thinking I liked that.

And then I liked pretty much everything.

I learned in an English class-- I don't remember when or where or who I was, I want to say in high school but I can't be totally sure-- that almost every language invented by human beings begins with that language's equivalent of the letter "a." In other words the sound the first character makes in almost every language is "ahhh." They told us that this was because "ahhh" is the sound we make after satisfying our two biggest needs: Food and sex.

In the moment after I realize we aren't going to die and before I realize with terror that something has forever changed between us I think one thing, Chuck.

Ahhh.

It's a instinctual, animal reaction and it feels amazing. Your lips are warm against mine, moving forcefully and passionately against my own. I'm pretty sure that I'm the one that opens my mouth to deepen the kiss but you're the one who reciprocates so well that I'm a little breathless. Somewhere in the back of my mind I keep waiting for the heat to rise up and consume us and when you twist your mouth just right I think for a second it's the bomb going off but then it's not and that's when I realize that it's not going off.

There's a reason we suppress all those needs as agents, Chuck.

Because in this moment, as we break apart and I understand that we won't explode, this moment where I see everything that just happened as if I'm outside of my body, I feel those four other needs fighting for a way back in. I see them pushing for space in an area of my heart that I had filled up with the basic needs. The physiological needs. Food. Shelter. Water. Breathing. Survival. I had priced them so high that they consumed up all the space for everything else that was supposed to be in there.

And now we're not dead.

And you're still the Intersect.

And everything, _everything_, will be different between us.

I've never-- _never_-- felt need like this, Chuck. And it's natural for you. To feel the need for things beyond the basics. It's natural for you to need to seize a moment, for you to need to feel companionship, for you to need to feel worthwhile. But we're not dead. And I can't afford to have those needs, Chuck. I have to turn them into wants. Distant, unattainable wants.

You look into my eyes as you, too, realize that we aren't going to explode and suddenly I don't know if I can stop myself from needing you.


	10. Chuck vs The Nemesis: Science

Chuck...

I mean Bryce...

No, I mean Chuck...

If I were completely honest with myself-- something I've never been (you know that, Bryce) until recently (because of you, Chuck)-- I'd admit to myself that I'm talking to both of you.

Because, truthfully, I see a lot of you in each other.

Bryce, our connection was fiery and passionate and running through explosions and hails of bullets. It was adrenaline and gunpowder. It was physics, in the sense that physics hurtles objects of similar mass and velocity around and into one another. And that connection, that one is unique to us, and it's not something I share with Chuck.

Chuck, our connection was understated and it crept up on me like I've never let an enemy agent. It was fluttering pulse rates and solemnity. It was chemistry, in the sense that chemistry combines disparate elements and creates incredible reactions out of them, and you're lucky if you can ever get the same reaction again, even with the same elements. And that connection, that one is unique to us, and it's not something I share with Bryce.

But standing here now, knowing Bryce, that you're calling my hotel room, and Chuck, seeing your face on my phone, I feel pulled apart by horses. The connections we've had with each other are different, and the two of you are different people, but despite the fact that, Chuck, you're taller and cuter in your more excitable demeanor, and Bryce, you're more windswept and handsome and we have so much _history_ that I remember so fondly, I consider the both of you simultaneously and I can barely keep you apart in my head.

There were things that drew me to you, Bryce, aside from physics. It was the way you trusted me to make the shot, the way you made me the center of your world, and the way you relied on me as much as I relied on you. And I see so much of those same characteristics in Chuck and, sometimes, even more so in him than in you.

He doesn't just trust me to make the shot, he trusts me to always look out for him, sometimes even if it isn't in my best professional interest. And, even though our relationship is a cover, he still looks to me and considers me before he does just about anything (aside from Lou), and he relies on me in a totally different way than you ever did: he relies on me to help him pull himself out of this rut he's been in and more than has the skills to pull out of.

And, the truth is, Chuck, I rely on you, too. And in a different way than I ever relied on Bryce. Bryce, you and I, we relied on each other professionally and we enjoyed each other personally. But, with Chuck... Chuck, you and I both rely on each other for both of those things. You're not an agent, but I wouldn't still be here if it weren't for you defusing bombs (two bombs he's diffused already, Bryce, you'd be proud of your friend) or convincing Carina to come back for me. And personally? I've never felt much personally, I've never been allowed to (Bryce, you know that). But Chuck, you force me to just by being yourself.

And Chuck, as much as I fight against our chemistry, there's something to it. But there are traces of Bryce's physics in you, too, and when I see them in you they make me think of Bryce. Like your willingness to sacrifice yourself for me, or for anyone you care about. Your spontaneous moments of bravery would always painfully remind me of some time Bryce took a bullet for me (figuratively and literally).

Bryce, I'm not going to lie, it felt _good_ to know that you weren't rogue. It felt _good_ to know that you were alive. And it felt _good_ to kiss you again. It felt good to be near you again.

And Chuck, it hurt to see the pain in your face when I realized you had seen us like that. And, damn you, I felt as though I had betrayed you, even though this is just supposed to be (and irrecoverably just isn't) a cover.

Sometimes I think you think this is easy for me, Chuck. That this fake relationship doesn't strain me as much as it strains you. But it does. It burbles up inside of me like an anxiety I can't control and do you know how hard it is for me to _admit_ I can't control something much less deal with being unable to control it? I can't control you and it's infuriating, it's this frustrating concoction of catalysts and agents that never reacts the same way twice. It's difficult chemistry.

It's terrifying enough to want to run away with you, Bryce, because I know you and it's safe and easy with you. Emotionally safe and easy, of course. It's not this difficult and unconquerable ball of emotions nestled somewhere in the vicinity of my kidneys. It's just this easy, lustful and enjoyable hurtling of particles at high velocities through missions and covers and secrets and lies. It's easy physics.

But, Bryce? As far as science goes, you and I were an A in physics, that's true. And Chuck and I will never be more than a C, or generously a B. But after you stole the Intersect, even if you did it for the good of the country, you didn't trust me enough to think that I'd be on your side. When it comes to chemistry, Bryce, I thought we were doing well. But, for the final exam, you failed.

Chemistry, Chuck, as difficult and frustrating and unpredictable and uncontrollable as it has been, is why I'm going to stay.

I think.

I don't know.

I look between the phone ringing on my bed stand and the phone vibrating on my bed and for a moment the rings and the vibrations line up and it's like you're both the same person, calling me for the same reason, and I wish I knew which mattered more, the physics or the chemistry.

Bryce...

Chuck...?

* * *

**A/N: So, despite my best efforts, I went three straight with Sarah. I'm definitely going to have to go a different route for Crown Vic. Also I'm sorry for taking so long to get this next entry up. I've been working on my multi-chapter fic Chuck vs the Simple Twist of Fate, which was inspired a lot by this fic, so if you're not reading that, please do! That being said, I want to give shout outs to all my reviewers: Afficted, William Ashbless, aross93, you_re_such_a_nerd and jagged1. Thanks so much.**


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